


Come On

by SearchingForMercury



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, nobody is straight, pretty cliche plotline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SearchingForMercury/pseuds/SearchingForMercury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lovino is the son of a wealthy businessman and while he isn't expected to follow in his grandfather's shoes, he feels he has to, to keep what his grandfather created in the family. Goodness knows Feliciana isn't interested. His life is full of meetings and appointments and there aren't nearly enough hours in the day to do it all.</p><p>Antonio is a cab driver by day, bartender by night. The bar he works at isn't ritzy -- its warm, loud, and there's a dance floor that nobody really ever uses. Antonio is unsure where life will take him and he's been okay with that, honest, until a particularly handsome man slides into the backseat of his cab.</p><p>-----</p><p>Written for Alex as a birthday present!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexdamien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexdamien/gifts).



..::.::.::..

Lovino didn't have time to fool around. The office was buzzing with phones, negotiations, and the tap, tap, tapping of fingers on keyboards. Late morning sun was beginning to slip into the room and in the afternoon, the windows would be thrown open. Plans were in the works, minds were churning out ideas, and he simply didn't have time to think about anything else. He had a meeting he had to go to in an hour and he was already phoning his chauffeur, to make sure he would be on time.

He was a punctual sort of person and Lovino's sister would be sure to roll her eyes at him, but _she_ didn't have to worry. Oh no, she had gotten an art scholarship to send her halfway across the goddamn world when she graduated high school. Now that she was back, all she did was lounge around the family penthouse, doodling images in her sketchbook while her assistant fretted over her professional image.

Their grandfather had created a business -- it dabbled in just a little of everything, from advertisements to the organization of parades -- and Lovino was intent on keeping it in the family. If only Feliciana felt the same; she'd be getting a share of it regardless, but it would have been nice to see a little enthusiasm on her end, to support Lovino and the effort he was making. There was no news of their grandfather retiring just yet, but still. It kept Lovino on his toes -- he needed to push himself, to make himself better. And for that reason, he didn't need or want distractions.

His chauffeur answered on the third ring, earning him a tirade of harsh words from Lovino.

"Sorry, sir," the woman replied. "My wife just went into labor. Earlier than expected, I swear I wasn't planning this--"

Lovino cut him off. "How would anyone plan _that_?" he asked. "Don't be stupid. Just tell me if you have a backup plan."

There was a sigh from the other end. "No sir, I called around and everyone is booked," she said. "I really didn't think anything would come up--"

"Yes, yes, I see that," Lovino snapped and then, after a pause, said in a slightly less severe tone, though it didn't make that big a difference, "Congratulations. Call the office when you get a chance to refigure your schedule and we'll take it from there."

Lovino was, after all, a reasonable man. His grandfather had worked hard to become who he was and he never forgot his humble beginnings -- he made sure his family didn't forget either.

He checked the large watch on his wrist he was never sure suited him. Less than an hour to figure out a new way to get to that meeting.

..::.::.::..

When Tony opened his eyes, he had the distinct feeling something was wrong. It didn't feel right, somehow. He sat up and looked around him and sure, he wasn't feeling _the best_ , but that was because of the shots he downed the night before, in the bar below his apartment. It wasn't a hangover, his head wasn't killing him, but his mouth was dry and he really wanted a shower. Something to eat would also be pretty good, though several cups of coffee sounded much better. He'd probably swing by the coffee shop at the corner of his block and get some donuts before starting his day job.

Shit.

That got him hopping in the shower before his socks were off. His alarm clock hadn't gone off -- _that's_ what felt out of place. He scrubbed at his face, willing his mind to wake up some more. The coffee was definitely needed. Something to get energy back in those limbs of his, get him buzzing. Tony threw on simple green t-shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and was running out of his apartment before realizing he'd forgotten his shoes. 

As soon he'd gotten his food and coffee, he flipped the light on to show his cab was ready to take on customers. Luckily for him, his line of work _always_ provided those.

A woman bustled in with plastic, star-shaped sunglasses covering most of her face. She told Tony where to go and immediately busied herself with fixing her bottle-blonde hair and running a finger along the rim of her mouth. She was a sort of athletic thin -- muscular arms and long, smooth legs she kept open like a boy. If Tony wasn't at least 90% sure he was gay, he would've been disappointed she was wearing shorts instead of a skirt. Then her phone started ringing and Tony turned down the music, even so it was barely playing to begin with.

"Hey there," the woman answered while simultaneously digging through her purse. "Oh my god, Olivia, babe, I'll be there in like, five minutes...I'm in a cab, on my way over...Hey, hey, hey, hey, don't you Amelia _me_ , I said I might be late and it turns out I am!...Well, what do you want me to do? I can't make time stand still while I slog my way through mid-morning traffic!"

Tony wanted to point out that it was him doing the work -- _he_ was slogging through the traffic. Not that it bothered him, he quite liked the slow drive, but just for the sake of correctness.

"The gallery is going to be there when I get there," the woman was saying. "Just make chit chat like you usually do!...Oh my god, I don't care about any Italian artists being there, _you_ care about that and you're _there_ , so what's the big deal?...Oh well...Yeah, okay...Thanks, babe, I love you too...Okay...See you when I get there...buh-bye."

Tony imagined her to be a movie star, on her way to see the love she tried keeping secret from the paparazzi. It was a game he played, to keep his mind active during the slower parts of the day. He rolled up to the curb, she paid him and got out. He watched as her skinny heeled shoes clacked against the concrete.

Then the door opened and a new story unfolded, with a different set of instruction. This time it was a quiet man with blonde hair and soft features -- except for his eyes. They were hard and wasted no time in glaring at Tony when he caught him looking his way.

"You look like a man with a story," Tony said, trying to get some conversation going.

"I pay you to drive, not to speak," the man replied.

So Tony shut it. Maybe this was a prince traversing city alone for the first time. He could be on his way to a conference, a meeting with a bride-to-be -- but wait, no, what if it were another prince? Tony liked that idea. A prince who wouldn't leave him alone, which explained the tired look about his eyes, and who was dead set on winning his hand in marriage. Children? Who needed children? Well, he supposed, the respective countries might want an heir. But they had that new thing, invitro-something or the other. Where they could knock up a woman without the sex part. It was all done in hospitals and labs. A crown prince or princess, created in a glass tube on some grimy scientist's counter.

But then the prince left and another man took his place. And another and another. People came, people went. His job was simple. It was good he had a memory for places and appearance. Not so much for names, but streets were easy to remember after a while of staring at a map.

It was as he was driving away from dropping off a particularly broad-shouldered hit-man when a young man flagged him down. His arms were waving at him, short legs trying to _run_ at him, and his face -- his face was the most beautiful face Tony had ever seen and he was pretty certain that 90% had shot up to 100. Sure, his face was scrunched in panic and frustration, but there was no denying those pretty features.

"Oh thank god," the man said upon entering the cab. "My driver had to have a crisis on the same day half of this city's taxis were otherwise occupied." He told him where he needed to be taken and Tony eased on the gas.

"What's the rush?" Tony asked. He really wished his heart would cut it out because he was trying to hear the young man speak over all the bothersome thudding.

"I have to be at a meeting," he said with a huff. "And I only have--" he pulled back the sleeve of his suit. "--fifteen minutes to be there so could you _please_ hurry your ass up? I mean, jesus, I've seen people in old folks' homes drive faster than you."

Tony nodded and picked it up a little. He wanted to try saying more, to learn more about the incredibly good-looking young man sitting in his backseat -- the thought sent a shiver down his spine before he realized he was being stupid, that he was a cab driver so of course he had people in his backseat. But the feeling didn't leave him.

"So, you do that a lot?" Tony asked. He could have kicked himself hard in the shins -- what kind of question was that?

"Do I do what a lot?" the man asked, his tone appropriately wary. His red-brown hair looked more red when the sun caught it. 

"Meetings," Tony answered weakly. 

And the man didn't respond, which Tony couldn't blame him for. Tony was officially the worst at making small talk. He could have talked about the weather, like with the hit-man. Something simple would have sufficed. Instead, he kept quiet and turned up the music. _Come On Eileen_ by Dexy's Midnight Runners; a bouncy song, appropriate for the start of a summer afternoon. His thumbs tapped at the wheel to the beat and he couldn't understand most of the lyrics, but he loved the _too-ra-loo-ra_ bits. 

But his mind wouldn't settle. He couldn't come up with a story for this man. Instead, he wanted to figure out his story, his real one, and Tony had never done that before. So he just listened to rest of the song, pulled up in front of the building the man had asked for, and let him get out and walk away. He felt stupid but he knew he'd feel stupider going after him. The man clearly had better things to do with his time than waste it on a cab driver.

He turned his attention to his other customers, and though he had a potential siblings-but-not-by-blood pair, his mind wasn't coming up with anything good. He just kept thinking about how well-fitted that dark grey suit had been on that particularly well-kept body--

Tony stepped on the brake a little too suddenly and apologized to the woman sitting in the back. The sun had started to sink below the horizon, so he turned off the light on his cab after she got out and turned towards home. He needed to get his head back where it belonged -- on his shoulders. He'd need it for his second job, unless his friends visited for a second time in a row, in which case he had to set his alarm before he even started. 

And so he parked on the street, outside of the bar he would be working, unaware that an olive green folder had slipped from the seat next to the dashing customer hours before and fallen under one of the front row seats. While Antonio was mixing drinks and making better conversation than he'd had earlier, the passenger he couldn't quite forget was arguably having a bigger crisis than the chauffeur who was slowly losing feeling in her fingers under her wife's death grip.

..::.::.::..


	2. Chapter 2

..::.::.::..

The inside of Lovino's head was a mess of foggy memories and the sludgy residue of self-loathing. He'd retraced his steps, asked the people who worked around him, and even went to his sister's assistant -- he knew that girl had been hired for the both of them. Deny it all she wanted, but Lovino had seen the contract on his grandfather's desk. He'd argued about not needing a babysitter, but maybe he really did. After all, he'd just lost a valuable piece of company information -- one that involved bank numbers. Oh yes, he was definitely in the shitter if he couldn't find it.

Which was why he was desperately trying to think of the holes in his memory. What had gone outside his bubble of normalcy that day? He'd eaten breakfast alone -- a jam-filled croissant dusted with powdered sugar from the bakery two streets down, followed by an espresso. He'd had the documents overnight to review them for the big conference the next day, so he certainly had them when eating; he remembered making sure not to get jam on the cover. Then he'd gone into work like usual, where the folder remained on his desk for a good portion of the morning. Could someone have stolen it?

But then he remembered that aggravating, yet understandable phone call he'd made to his driver and it was like the gears just clicked into place. What was the one thing he'd done differently that day? 

_Taken a taxi._

But that miraculous breakthrough was quickly followed by the crushing realization of not having _any_ idea how to find one particular taxi driver in the whole city. He tried remembering the fellow's name, but he didn't think he even bothered to look at his nametag on the dash. The only thing that came to mind, and it did so without much explanation on his brain's part, was his striking green eyes. The way he would look at him in the rearview mirror, like he was checking to make sure Lovino was still there and every time he saw that he was, it was unbelievable. 

So he was a somewhat odd, friendly taxi driver with green eyes. Fan-fucking-tastic. That would surely get him responses in no time when he started his inquiry.

The kitchen lights were glaringly bright when he switched them on, but he grabbed the phone off the receiver and plopped down at the dark wood table. It was a big thing, enough for their entire family plus some. Their grandfather was keen on keeping family and friends close and the atmosphere warm. Unfortunately for him, those occasions didn't happen as often as they used to. Lovino stared at the phone before realizing he needed the phonebook. 

"Lovino?" Feliciana asked as she walked in. She was rubbing at her eye and yawning real wide, without covering her mouth. "What are you doing up? What time is it?"

"Go back to bed, dipshit," he said and went in search for the big book of numbers.

"No," she said defiantly and stuck out her tongue. "Just because you called me that."

"I thought we were all grown up by now," Lovino grumbled. He had to drag a chair over to reach the top of the cabinet. "I guess not."

"Says the one who called me dipshit," Feliciana grumbled. She walked over to the table and sat down. "You're too serious lately. It's boring."

"And you're not serious enough," Lovino shot back. He abandoned the chair when he was finished with it to be dealt with later or by someone else. He had more important things to worry about. 

"What are you doing up?" Feliciana asked again.

Lovino didn't say anything more. Instead he punched in the first number he found for cabs and pressed the phone to his ear. It was going to be a long night.

..::.::.::..

Lotte hadn't worked for the Vargas family a long time, but she felt her patience was already wearing quite thin. She would almost prefer working with unruly kids than face having to get Feliciana to attend another gallery showing. The girl was like chewing gum and her bed was like another piece of chewing gum and it was Lotte's job to remove one from the other, for they'd been unfortunately chewed in the same mouth. Some days she wanted to punch through a wall, and she did, but only at home, where it could be covered by a poster or patched up by her brother.

And then there were the days when she was reminded why she couldn't just leave her job. The mid-morning sun already filled Feliciana's room, but the girl in question was buried beneath blankets and pillows. The only thing Lotte could really distinguish was her wild red-brown hair tumbled across one of the pillows.

"You have a showing this afternoon," Lotte said and watched as the lump moved. "It's time to get up."

Feliciana's whine was muffled by the pillow. She turned her head to squint at Lotte. "It's too early," she said. "And too cold."

"It wouldn't be so cold if you didn't crank up the air conditioning," Lotte quipped. "It _is_ the middle of summer. Come now, get up."

Feliciana rolled over and rubbed at her eyes. She blinked at the ceiling a few times before looking back her way, a smile curling on her face. " _Or_ ," she said. "You could join me here and we could both stay warm."

Lotte felt her cheeks warm and she couldn't figure out a way to stop it. "That's nonsense," she said with a glare. She knew her glares were sharp -- she used to raise hell in gym class when she was appointed leader of whatever sport they were playing. "Now get out of bed and eat breakfast."

At the sound of food, Feliciana sat up, but Lotte was already walking out of the room. Her cheeks were on fire and she didn't want Feliciana to see. Feliciana liked teasing her, pulling reactions from her, but none of it was said in seriousness. Lotte was the one with stupid feelings, not Feliciana.

"But you didn't tell me what's to eat!" Feliciana complained, tumbling out of her room in panties and an oversized t-shirt. The blush only deepened. "Lotti, get back here!"

It wasn't fair, using such a cute nickname. "Put some pants on and maybe I will tell you," she said and kept walking.

"Or I could just follow you to the kitchen and find out," Feliciana said.

" _Or_ you could do that and not get any of it," Lotte replied. "Now go! Pants on now!"

Feliciana pouted and walked back to her room. "You're no fun," she mumbled.

"I know that," Lotte said quietly, more to herself than to anyone. She wasn't there to be fun, she was there to do a job. And crush be damned, she wasn't going to let her feelings get in the way of that. 

She walked back into the kitchen, where eggs were sizzling in a pan alongside bacon. She'd walked in that morning to find Lovino snoring softly between the yellow pages, the phone next to him, depleted of its battery. It wasn't often she found him so quiet, so she'd started tidying up, but he woke to the sound of pans being shuffled around inside the cabinet. 

Seriously, since when did 'assistant' become 'babysitter?' If she wasn't paid extremely well -- enough to support her and her brother -- she would've been out of there before the first week was even over. Then again, she thought as Feliciana walked into the kitchen and admired her tousled bed hair, maybe not.

..::.::.::..

The entire day was full of images of the well-dressed young man. Some, Tony would never admit, had the man in somewhat compromising positions. And even if Tony were tortured for it, he'd never tell anyone that each of those images led to scenarios and those scenarios always ended in the bedroom. Tony hadn't felt that way since his college days and he'd had that crush on the British boy who shared a room with Francis. Of course, Francis also had a crush on the British guy, so it was a thing Tony didn't really talk about -- Francis was one of his best friends. Only Gilbert, his roommate at the time, had ever been privy to that information.

It had been a long time since college. Tony dropped out midway through the second year, mostly due to financial reasons, but also because he had a difficult time keeping up with the work. It was stressful and Tony felt life was too short to be wasted on high levels of panic, anger, and frustration.

He whined about how so very lost he was in this silly one-sided longing, this impossible crush, in texts to both of his friends. He'd met him once and had no idea who he was or what his name might be, just that he was the most perfectly created human being he'd ever encountered. And that included the grumpy British boy and his hot accent.

And that's how his evening wore on as well. He leaned against the bar, not really seeing the tables scattered around or the blank spot in the room meant for dancing -- he saw the gorgeous passenger brushing back his russet colored hair with fingers Tony wanted to weave between his own as his mouth pressed against his warm neck and he inhaled his scent -- what _was_ his scent? He wanted to find out.

"Earth to Tony, are we there?" Gilbert was saying, waving a hand in front of his eyes.

"No he isn't," Francis said, seating himself at the bar. "I don't think he'd been there the whole time he's been working."

"You guys only just came in," Tony mumbled, getting glasses out for the two of them. He wasn't entirely sure his statement was true, though; he couldn't remember when he'd started zoning out.

"Mhmm, cut out the last word and it'd be what _I'd_ be saying to the imaginary you and him in that head of yours," Francis replied with a slow smirk curling up have of his face, lighting up his deep blue eyes. 

"Whoa now," Gilbert said, frowning as he reached for the drink Tony was handing to him. Gilbert's eyes, on the other hand, were more of a washed out blue, like faded denim.

"Oh come on," Francis replied. "You can't tell me you've never thought about pushing someone down before. Oh wait, I forgot. Okay then, you can't tell me you've never thought _Tony_ hasn't thought about pushing someone down before."

Gilbert cringed. "Uh huh," he said and took a large gulp of his beer. He had said he wasn't interested in sex, a couple years back, and Tony didn't really understand it and Francis, well...

Francis relished the feeling he got from making others uncomfortable. And so Tony just watched as Francis said, "Push him down and _straddle_ him, full on, until the boy is practically _begging_ ," getting closer and closer to Gilbert's ear, which was getting red. "And then they're pulling at each other's clothes and gasping into the other's ear." He blew into Gilbert's ear.

" _Okay, enough_ ," Gilbert shouted, standing up. He rubbed his ear on his shoulder and, when that wasn't enough, his fingers. "God that's gross."

Francis looked satisfied. "I don't know why you're acting so shy now," he said. "You talk about it, too."

"Hey now," Gilbert said, pointing. "Saying people are banging is one thing. You or I could say people are bang-a-langing all day long and it wouldn't bother me. But _details_." He shuddered. 

"Good to know," Francis mumbled into his drink, earning him narrowed eyes from Gilbert.

"Anyways," Antonio intervened. He didn't have anything to add to that, but lower parts of him were starting to feel uncomfortable so he wanted them to stop.

"Right, so any leads to who this mystery man is?" Gilbert asked, propping his elbows up on the counter.

Tony shook his head. "Not a clue," he said. "Maybe it's better this way, though. You know? That way he doesn't reject me or I find out he's married."

"Or worse," Francis said. " _Straight_."

"Hey now," Gilbert said.

"Oh please, you're about as straight as I was in high school," Francis replied. "The time, I'll have you know, when I was fucking the lead in the school play."

Gilbert wrinkled his nose. "You say that like it's something to be proud of," he said.

"It is," Francis said with a sage sort of nod. "He was _very_ popular. Great voice, too, and I don't mean on stage."

"Oh for fucks sake--"

" _Guys_ ," Tony said.

"He started it!" Gilbert insisted.

"If you won't cut it out, I'm banning you from coming here tomorrow," Tony threatened. 

"And throw out your best paying customers?" Francis asked. "Not to mention, the best dressed. I mean, at least one of us is."

"I will shove that glass so far down your throat--"

"I'm telling you, straight as high school me," Francis interrupted Gilbert with a shrug. "What was it, straight in the streets and gay in the sheets?"

"You're not even gay, though," Antonio argued. "You're bi."

"Pan, actually," Francis corrected. "But everyone uses gay as an umbrella term and then criticizes us when we use it. So I'm going to _keep_ using it until people recognize that pansexual is not some kinky obsession with pans."

"I wouldn't put it past _you_ \--"

Francis silenced Gilbert with a kiss, and not just _any_ kiss. Tony watched as Gilbert's face shifted in horror and, yup, he figured Francis had slipped him some tongue. Ah, well. 

"I can't say you didn't deserve it," Antonio said when Francis finally let him go.

"Now that's both of my friends I've kissed," Francis said, looking proud, while Antonio had war flashbacks. It had been college and there had been drinking. Tony got a little too feelsy with alcohol.

Gilbert was silent.

"So yeah," Antonio said, trying to steer the conversation away from anything that would get Gilbert kissed or Francis punched in the face. "How's work?"

"We didn't come here to talk about that," Gilbert said. He didn't look completely recovered from the shock Francis's tongue was known to give.

"We didn't?" Francis asked, still trying to provoke. Tony gave him a look.

"We came to hear about this guy. Now, what'd he look like?" Gilbert asked, brushing some of his platinum blonde hair from his eyes.

So Antonio told them. Some of the details, like the color of his suit and possibly the way he was looking at him, were a little fudged, but the main points were all there. He really wanted to meet him again, to take him on dates where they could maybe make-out in movie theaters.

"What are you, seventeen?" Francis asked. Gilbert had left after the third explanation of just how the guy's hair fell into his eyes with a hurried, "I'll find this guy. Leave it to me." Gilbert was very handy with computers, but Tony felt even this was beyond his skill.

"What do you mean?" Tony asked with a pout.

" _C'mon_ , you should be wanting to take him out to fancy hotels, where you can dine downstairs and get all heated upstairs," Francis said.

Tony gave him a weird look. The only thing Francis had really talked about that night was sex, and while Francis was pretty well known in their circle of friends as the guy who could swing many ways, he wasn't _that_ obsessed with passionate love-making. He was always very committed when in relationships and poured too much of himself into them.

"Are you okay, Frankie?" Tony asked.

Instead of berating him for the use of the nickname he never liked, Francis groaned. " _Finally_ ," he said. "Isn't the bartender supposed to be listening to _my_ problems? You're a shit bartender, you know."

Tony shrugged, smiling. Francis was beginning to reach his alcohol limit. "So what's up?" he asked.

"There's this _boy_ , I mean, he's not really a boy, he's definitely above legal age, but, _but_ he's the cousin of my roommate's boyfriend. I mean, old roommate. You remember him, with the hot accent and funny eyebrows," Francis said, waggled his own eyebrows, and continued regaling him with complaints of pent-up frustration.

And try as he might, Tony couldn't help but think about how at least Francis had a chance with his crush -- Tony had a short memory of the fifteen minutes he spent alone in a car with a stranger. He just needed some time, he decided. He could forget about him in time.

..::.::.::..

After the thirty-fifth or thirty-sixth cab rolled away, Lovino sat down on the concrete steps leading to a building he didn't really care to look at. He didn't have a whole lot of patience, but he'd spent the entire day just waving down taxi after taxi. Some of them had less patience than him and far dirtier mouths, which honestly surprised him. He kept a few of those phrases in his head for later use, but that wasn't the important thing. He'd failed to find the taxi driver who had given him a lift the day before.

_How many taxis could there be?_ he mentally mocked himself. A whole fucking _lot_ , that's how many. He picked himself up and dusted off the back of his pants. The sun had gone down and Lovino didn't like staying out too late alone. So he pulled out his phone and dialed his temporary new driver to pick him up.

When he walked into the penthouse, Feliciana was flipping through a magazine on one of the sofas with her legs tucked up under her. 

"Where's your little mistress?" Lovino asked, loosening his tie.

"Who?"

"The assistant," he replied, fell onto one of the other couches and put his feet up on the rustic wood coffee table.

"She has a name," Feliciana said.

"I know that."

"Then _use_ it," she shot back. When Lovino didn't reply, she looked at him from over the top of her magazine. " _Lotte_ went home. I told her she could leave after making dinner."

Lovino shifted his head. "Is that even in her job description?" he asked.

"No idea," Feliciana replied with a shrug. "But I'm not complaining. Her cookies are to die for, and I'm not kidding. If someone told me I couldn't have any more of those delicious, soft, warm snacks, I'm afraid of what I'd do."

He thought about what she might do. "Are there any left?" he asked.

There was a pause.

" _Maybe_ ," Feliciana replied. "Depends on what your answer is for staying out so late on your day off."

"That's not--"

"Answer the question, asshole."

Lovino frowned at her. "I was looking for a cab driver," he finally said after much deliberation. Those cookies _were_ good. "I left something important with him and I need to get it back."

"Why'd you leave it with him?" she asked, putting down her magazine. 

"I didn't do it on purpose!" he argued. "It was an accident! And anyways, I think it's impossible. Do you know how many cab drivers there are in this city?"

"Yeah, you can see them all over the city even when looking from way up here-- Wait a minute, please say you didn't try waving them all down," she said.

How in all the lands of middle earth did she managed to pick up on that? Usually his sister let almost everything slip right on by. "Maybe," he said, reluctant to let the words leave his mouth. 

She stood up with a sigh, then. "You," she said, "need a life."

He followed her. "Where are those cookies?" he asked.

She started to run. "Nowhere!" 

"I answered the question, stop running like a kid and _give them to me_." But, in the end, he ran after her.

..::.::.::..


	3. Chapter 3

..::.::.::..

Lists were one of Gilbert's specialties. He could come up with ideas, list them out, then expand on those. An assortment of colored pens were always stocked in his desk drawer and he always bought the notebook with perforated edges, so there'd be no mess. The 'attention to detail' and 'organization skills' listed on his resume were not for show -- he really knew his stuff. After the bar, he'd jotted the few things Antonio remembered on a post-it note before crashing in his bed, relishing the smell of clean sheets.

The sun was just starting to peer over the horizon, light spiking out into the world, and Gilbert was stuck. He'd made a very great list and had several tabs open on his computer, including Facebook profiles of a couple potentials -- he was waiting for their replies to his messages -- and he was just waiting for his sister to wake up before he could hit the print button on a couple Word documents. But he'd reached a point in the road where he would have to stop and wait for the cattle to cross.

He didn't like those moments.

Lotte walked into the study to see Gilbert balancing several of those colored pens on his face.

"Should I even ask?" she said and set down a mug on the desk, next to his notebook.

Without dropping a single one, he took all the pens off and sat up. Coffee, exactly what he needed. "Research," he said. "It's for a buddy of mine." He took a sip and nearly spat it back out. "This isn't coffee."

"Of course it isn't," Lotte replied, shifting the notebook so she could see it better. "You don't need caffeine, you need your medication and today's your appointment with the psychiatrist." 

It wasn't that Gilbert didn't _like_ hot chocolate, he was just expecting something else. And he was disappointed. "But I _like_ coffee," he argued. "Why can't I have what I like?"

"I wonder how many serial killers thought the same."

"That's different and you know it," Gilbert replied. "And I don't want to take the stupid medication, it makes me feel like a robot."

Lotte sighed. "I _know_ , but you were fired from your last job," she said. 

Gilbert had ADHD. "It should be illegal to fire people for mental handicaps," Gilbert said, swiveling in his seat. 

"It is, but breaking plates in an attempt to build a house of cards isn't."

"They were _square plates_."

"Does that really matter?" Lotte asked. "Really, look me in the eye and tell me that it matters."

Gilbert knew what she meant, he just didn't want to say it. "So how long are you going to be at work today?" he asked.

"A couple hours, but I'll be here after lunch, so you'd better be ready," she said.

"I'm already ready," Gilbert shot back. "But yeah, I'll be waiting."

Lotte nodded. She'd cut her fine, blonde hair short when she was in high school and kept it like that ever since. "What have you been doing?" she asked.

"Looking up some dude Tony finds hot," Gilbert replied and, remembering what he'd been waiting for, hit the print button. It whizzed to life. "Well, more like trying to find him. When I get enough possible candidates, I'm going to print out their pictures and show them to him." And he figured out a way around those cattle. "Hey, _you_ work for fancy people, maybe you could help me gather more names for my list!"

"I don't know about that," she started, but then something flashed across her mind -- he could see it in her eyes. They were the same color as his own. "Your friend Tony, what did you say his job was?"

"A bartender?"

"No, the other job. He's got more than one, right?" she asked. She grabbed the other spin-y chair in the study and sat down. Gilbert could practically taste her coffee in his nose. 

"Yeah, he's a cab driver," he replied. "Why?"

"Well, it might just be nothing, but one of my clients has been searching the yellow pages for cab drivers," she replied.

Gilbert didn't get it. "I thought you only had one client -- that girl you wanna bang." He definitely deserved the punch to his arm. That was gonna bruise. "Ow, and my point being: she's a girl and Tony is oh so very gay."

"My client has a brother and I'm more or less responsible for both of them," Lotte replied. 

That was interesting. "Okay," Gilbert said, sitting a little straighter. "So he's been looking up cabbies in the phonebook? He's gotta be the guy! Is he hot?"

Lotte gave him one of those looks that reminded Gilbert to think before he spoke.

"Right, right, girls," he said. "Girls get you-- _okay, stop, I'm sorry_."

His sister stopped smacking him with his own notebook and tossed it on the desk. "Now cut it out or the next thing you get is hot coffee to your lap," she said. "You don't _need_ that thing anyways."

Gilbert could feel the blood leave his face. "Please," he swallowed. "Please don't do that. And stop hanging out with Lizzie, it's starting to freak me out."

"She's in the hospital," Lotte replied with a shrug. "You could visit her, too."

There was a very good reason why he _didn't_ go. The annoying guy with glasses could be there too, and Gilbert really didn't want to see _him_. At least, not up close. 

"So anyways, your boy is looking for a cab and my boy is looking for a customer," Gilbert said and shrugged. "Sounds like matching stories to me. Can you give me his number?"

"Oh no, definitely not," Lotte said. "I don't give out information. But I can talk to Feliciana and see if we can arrange a meeting."

"Ehh," Gilbert said, making a face. "I don't know, meeting Feli sounds pretty damn boring."

"Not a meeting with _her_ , but a meeting with her _brother_ ," Lotte said with an exasperated sigh. "Because I have his schedule and Feliciana should be informed -- I don't want to do anything without her consent. It can be an accidental meet-up and if her brother and your friend don't recognize each other, then I'll help you get some names. Deal?"

Gilbert didn't really mull it over, he just pretended to. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "Sounds like a deal."

..::.::.::..

It was an overcast sort of day, which was a wonderful relief from the heat they'd been having. Unfortunately for Antonio, his two-tone tank-top and his patchy grey cargo shorts didn't really have much business in that part of town. The streets were full of big-glass buildings displaying the sort of clothes that _did_ , and men and women walked about in sunglasses and bright solid colors. It was the sort of setting he could imagine seeing in a movie. He didn't want to seem like he was up to anything suspicious; he wasn't sure if the cops around there were friendly.

A look across the street confirmed that Gilbert and his sister were still there, watching him. He would have asked them to do so even without Gilbert's insistence. He liked having some semblance of a plan and Gilbert was good at those.

His phone rang and he fumbled to answer it.

"He's coming out of the building," said Lotte.

"Okay, and where?" he asked.

"To your left, but don't look obvious, just look like you're trying to find this cafe," she said. 

So Antonio did. It took him a while, but he saw the young man walking his way. He turned around in a panic. "Oh shit, that's him," he said.

"Stay where you are." Lotte had a soothing quality about her voice. It could be sharp as a steel pipe jutting out a wall, but it also had the chill of an open refrigerator door on a sweltering summer day. He clung to that voice. "Try to catch his eye, but let your gaze slide right off him. You're looking for this cafe, do you hear? Just a man meeting up with his friends in an unfamiliar neighborhood."

At least his panic could be explained away. He wasn't confident he could manage to look away from the young man's face, though, so instead he looked right past his left shoulder. The original plan had him accidentally bumping into him inside the store but they all made the executive decision to have him accidentally bump into him outside when they first saw what he was wearing and then saw the store.

But it seemed to have worked. The young man came rushing over and Tony fumbled for a line to say.

"You say I'm close, how close?" he asked into the phone and he was so glad it wasn't Gilbert on the other line, or else he'd have him hooting in his ear over the sudden pitch Antonio's voice had risen to.

"You there!" the man said.

"That's him," Lotte said. "Don't hang up unnaturally. Figure out a good time to say goodbye to me."

Tony pretended to keep looking for the cafe until the beautiful man was standing right in front of him. He lowered his phone to his shoulder. "Can I help you?" he asked.

The man looked mostly surprised, though there was a little confusion thrown in. "Uh, yeah," he said. "I need to ask you something."

So Tony told Lotte he'd call her back and then hung up. He was all ears.

..::.::.::..

They watched as Lovino walked away with a very flustered looking Antonio. Lotte liked it when plans worked out -- all the pieces falling perfectly into place -- and apparently so did her brother.

"Boo yah, high five," Gilbert said with his hand up, so Lotte complied.

"What do you think will happen now?" Lotte asked, and took a sip from her coffee. "Is Antonio the sort to clean out the taxi?"

"Nah, he'll definitely find whatever he's looking for," Gilbert replied. "Tony hasn't cleaned that thing since he took his cousin to the airport.

Lotte wrinkled her nose; that had been over three months ago. Thankfully, her boss had given her a car to drive and she didn't have to put up with rotting banana smells or the unnecessary conversation that sometimes cropped up during public transport. 

Feliciana came back from the lady's room and took a seat next to Lotte. Her leg pressed against her own. Feliciana smoothed out her green skirt and looked up at the two of them. She didn't move her leg. "What did I miss?" she asked.

"Just your brother meeting my friend for the second time," Gilbert responded. "They left together." 

Feliciana nodded and brought her mug to her lips. "Hm," she hummed into her tea before setting it down. "Maybe they'll hook up."

Lotte felt her eyebrows raise along with Gilbert's. 

"You think so?" Gilbert asked. Lotte could practically see the respect forming on his face -- he had taken a shine to Feliciana. Not the kind that would make Lotte anxious, but more like Feli could make for an interesting friend.

She shrugged. "Anything's possible," she said. "I hope so, anyways. But I feel sorry for your friend -- my brother is really boring."

"He's not--" Lotte started, but stopped. Feli had given her a sideways look and Lotte wasn't sure what it was exactly, but she felt guilty for wanting to defend him. 

"We should keep each other in the loop," Gilbert said. "Tony tells me shit all the time."

Feliciana nodded and looked at Lotte like she was considering something. "I can get anything out of my brother," she said. "Given time and food. Do you want to exchange numbers?"

Lotte felt a surge of just wanting to say _no_ and stop them. But she knew that was ridiculous. As much as Lotte wanted to safeguard Feli from a lot of people, her brother wasn't one of them. It also probably had something to do with how she hadn't exchanged personal phone numbers with the girl yet, though that had more to do with her own stubborn dedication to rules and work etiquette.

Gilbert handed his phone over while glancing at Lotte; he definitely knew about her stupid crush. If only he knew how it felt like Feli's leg was burning against her own. She hadn't been able to think of a way to move it without either giving herself away or looking awkward, so she just stayed still.

But maybe Feli had taken a liking to her brother. Gilbert was a likeable guy, she supposed, and if she _had_ to pick a guy for her to date, Gilbert would definitely be it. She just really wished Feliciana wasn't interested in men.

..::.::.::..

Something was wrong with the world and Lovino wasn't sure he was keen on finding out what it was. For starters, Lovino hadn't expected the cab driver to be so...so... _young_. The word didn't feel quite right in his head, but he went with it anyways. And he was on the phone, looking around, so clearly he was busy, but the world didn't always dish out luck to Lovino, so when he saw that familiar face, he went charging.

"Do you drive a taxi?" Lovino asked after the man had hung up.

"Yeah," the man replied. He looked understandably nervous -- a strange man just comes running up out of nowhere asking very particular questions? "I gave you a ride once."

That was unexpected. Good, because he didn't need to elaborate much, but weird.

"I mean, I remember you had a meeting to get to," the man said and looked like he regretted it. "I've got a very good memory."

Part of Lovino's brain was telling him this was weird, weird, _weird_ and he should probably have brought along a friend, but the stronger, more dominant part of his brain was tapping at a watch impatiently and saying he didn't have time for this bullshit.

"Well," Lovino said, "I think I left something in your cab. Is it nearby?" 

"No, I'm not on duty right now," the man replied. "It's, uh, it's at my apartment."

Lovino sighed, wishing he could just command the idiot to take him there because he didn't have all day and he _needed that folder_. "Can we go there then? Are you in the middle of something urgent? Because I need that thing and it's really important that I get it sooner rather than later."

"Oh! Oh yeah, sure," the man said. "I mean, of course. And no, I was just -- it's not important. But, uh, I don't have the keys on me. We'd have to swing by my apartment to grab them, if that's okay with you."

"Sure, sure, whatever gets us there faster," Lovino said with a wave of his hand. He pulled out his phone. "I'll just call my driver and he can take us there."

"Are you sure? We could just take the subway," the man said, gesturing behind him, but Lovino had no idea to _what_ he was gesturing at.

He didn't even bother replying. His temp-driver took in his location and said he'd be there in five minutes. So all he had to do was wait -- wait with a strange man in a thankfully familiar part of town, making idle conversation. This was exactly the sort of shit he didn't have time for.

"So," the man said. "I'm Antonio."

"Excuse me?" 

"My name," he replied. "It's my name. Antonio."

Guilt and shame crept into Lovino's stomach. "Of course," he said. "Sorry. I'm Lovino."

Antonio smiled and Lovino got that feeling again -- the one that made him think the world was wrong. "Lovino," he repeated and the feeling just intensified. His name sounded...prettier when he said it. "That's a good name."

Lovino just shrugged. Nobody ever said _that_ to him before. "I guess," he said.

A few awkward moments later and the familiar black Lincoln pulled up in front of them. Lovino pulled on the door and launched himself into the air conditioned interior. It helped cool his face, which was beginning to feel unnaturally warm. He really hoped the whole charade wouldn't take long.

..::.::.::..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this chapter on Tumblr and totally forgot to post it here, sorry!


	4. Chapter 4

..::.::.::..

The afternoon sun didn't come through very well in Tony's apartment. The dusty blinds didn't help bring in the light that _did_ make it; they were of the cheap plastic variety and Tony couldn't remember exactly, but he was pretty sure they had come with the apartment. He didn't need curtains, or paint for that matter. He'd been too busy one weekend and then the next and it just sort of snowballed until he realized, standing in his dirty apartment with a very attractive man, that he didn't use his apartment for much else other than to recharge and keep going.

He kicked some socks under his bed, half hoping Lovino hadn't seen them while the other half of him hoped he'd remember he'd done that; he was fairly sure the dust under his bed had become sentient and he wasn't sure he'd _want_ those socks back after too long.

"So yeah," Tony said at the same time Lovino said, "Huh."

"Sorry," Tony said. "What'd you say?"

Lovino pursed his lips, looking around. "I don't know what I was imagining, but this isn't it," he said. The look on his face said it was much worse than whatever he'd been expecting.

Antonio shrugged. "It's cheap and my work is right downstairs," he said. "It's all I need."

Lovino looked confused. "Wait, you're a taxi driver -- won't your work be right downstairs no matter where you live?" he asked. "I mean, assuming you don't live in a basement apartment or whatever."

"I'm a bartender by night," Tony said and waggled his eyebrows, like it was his secret identity and he was letting Lovino in on it.

The other man stared at him for a bit. Maybe he was trying to evaluate his bartending skills just from looking him over -- or he was judging him mega hard. "Hm," he said and Tony was left wanting him to say something more.

Awkward tension was starting to hang over them, so Tony grabbed his keys from the kitchen quickly so Lovino couldn't follow him in. He really should have taken out the trash before leaving that morning. He made a mental note to air out the apartment once in a while -- closed windows really brought out the smell from the sink and the dishes piled inside it.

Lovino nodded when he saw the keys and Tony felt a tiny bolt of glee when the other man didn't look immediately relieved. So he took his time locking up his door and walked alongside Lovino as they moved towards the stairs. His nerves felt alive for the first time since way back when college began and he jumped a little when Lovino's arm bumped into his.

"Sorry," Lovino muttered.

The closer they got to Antonio's car, the more panic seemed to just well up inside him. He didn't want the moment to end. Lovino was going to get what he needed and leave. And what would Antonio do then? Lead the same boring life he'd always had. 

Nope, not gonna happen.

"Have you seen the latest movie?" he blurted out as his heartbeat sped up. His chest was honestly starting to hurt.

He found delight in the way Lovino's eyebrows came together. "Which one?" he asked.

"Any of them," Tony replied and wished his mouth wasn't so dry so he could swallow. 

There was a quiet moment where Lovino pulled the corner of his lower lip into his mouth and pondered the question; his brown eyes drifted to the side. "I don't have time for shit-- things like that," he finally said.

"Hm," Tony responded, trying to figure out what that might mean for him, if he wanted to see him again. But unfortunately for him, they'd arrived at his taxi. So it was with much reluctance that Tony unlocked the back seat and watched as Lovino peered inside it.

..::.::.::..

The folder which had shoved Lovino's comfortable life into a black hole was sitting under the front-row passenger's seat. The innocent air surrounding the object in question made Lovino more annoyed than he reasonably had any right to be, and he snatched it up like he intended to give it a stern lecture on the significance of Never Straying Too Far. But then he remembered the man who owned the car was standing right outside and probably wouldn't understand the importance of angrily yelling at inanimate objects.

Lovino got back out and looked around to distract himself, but didn't much like what he saw. Antonio lived in an area where the roads were a patchwork mess of tar, holes, and orange cones Lovino originally thought were for construction, but the more time went on, the less likely it seemed that was the case. It made his grip on the folder tighten just a little more.

"Thank you," he said when it became clear Antonio wasn't going to be saying anything.

It was enough to shake Antonio from the daze he was apparently in. "Of course," he said and smiled. Lovino didn't like many people but it was hard to direct honest annoyance at someone with such a natural smile as Antonio's. It made him feel lighter, if only just for a moment, and he didn't need to feel lighter. He wanted to feel like his usual sullen self.

"Then I guess I'll be off," Lovino said, glancing down the street. It was hard to look at someone who was staring like they had their entire attention focused on him. "I'll call my driver." He didn't even know why he was announcing it. He should have just taken his phone out and dialed -- he had what he needed, he didn't need to be _that_ polite.

"Wait," Antonio said. "Um, do you think we could meet up again?"

A shock went through Lovino's chest. "What?" he asked. "Why?" He didn't even need to pretend to frown -- he was honestly confused. He had his folder, why would they need to meet up?

This time Antonio looked away and smiled, but a sort of pressed on, automatic smile, like he was embarrassed. "To see the latest movie," he replied. "If you ever find the time."

Something stuck on to Lovino at that moment and wouldn't shake itself from his mind, no matter how hard he tried. When his driver pulled up in front of him, he gave Antonio a nod, though it felt stiff even by _his_ standards. All throughout the trip home, he tried puzzling it out, trying to figure out why he was feeling so stupid -- was it a feeling of stupidity? He wasn't sure. Past the shiny bronze elevator doors and up several stories, he was still thinking about it.

Somebody wanted to see him again and it wasn't to discuss business or to tell him he'd done something wrong. It wasn't his sister wanting to see him because she suspected he'd taken her set of watercolor pencils or to discuss dinner plans with Lotte. There was a tingling in his stomach, almost like a limb that had fallen asleep, and he couldn't make it stop.

And because he couldn't explain the warmth and glow that was invading his body, he got mad. He kicked the door to the apartment when walking in, but nobody was home to see his tantrum. So he marched to his room, tossed the folder on his desk, and buried his face in his pillow. He couldn't explain why or how, but it was all that damn Antonio's fault. 

..::.::.::..

People sitting at the bar were trying to talk over the _other_ people sitting at the bar talking, which created a big fuss of conversation, laughter, and shouting thrown across the room. It was busier than Antonio was used to, but it was also a game night so really, he should have seen it coming. Francis was sipping at his brandy in the middle of the roaring and beer sloshing. He looked out of place, with his well trimmed beard and tidy half-sleeve cardigan, but he didn't look bothered by it at all. 

"So how did it go?" Francis asked, venturing into the conversation Tony knew would come. And he asked it in a sort of sing-song way.

"I asked him to the movies," he replied.

"Oh-ho?" Francis said and took a sip. "When's the big day?"

Tony shook his head. "There is none," he said. 

The corners of Francis's mouth turned down, but not in a frown or even a mock-sad face. "He shot you down?" he asked.

Tony gave a vague shrug and set about filling up another mug for a customer down the bar. "He didn't really agree and he didn't really disagree," he said. "He just...left. But I can imagine he will, right?"

Francis didn't reply, so Tony continued on.

"Like, maybe he'll get into my cab and I'll think it's by accident, but really he orchestrated the whole thing to _seem_ like an accident," Tony said. "And he will tell me a time and a date and to be standing outside my apartment. Then he will roll up in a very slick car -- he's driving because he doesn't want the chauffeur to get in the way of our date. And then we drive to the theaters but there's nobody in sight and you want to know why?"

"Why?"

"Because he'll have booked the entire movie theater just for us," Antonio finished.

By this point, Francis had his elbow on the counter, his cheek resting against his palm. "Because he booked the entire movie theater," he repeated.

"Yes," Tony said with a definite nod.

"Oh my god. That's sad -- _you're_ sad -- is this what they call romance nowadays?"

"Shut up," Antonio replied, biting the inside of his cheek. "It's not like your love life is any better."

Francis looked like he was struggling to swallow his drink while lifting up a finger. "Excuse you, at least mine _talks_ to me on a somewhat steady basis!" he declared, but even he seemed to realize how that sounded.

Antonio leaned back and heaved a sigh. He looked at Francis and Francis looked right back at him. The glass of brandy slid to Francis's other hand and his finger traced the rim for what felt like an absurd amount of time before Tony said, "We're pathetic."

"I'll drink to that," Francis said, lifting his glass at the same time the bar erupted in a roar. A goal had been scored.

..::.::.::..


End file.
